( june event ) who's that pokemon?

[officialnotice]

EVENT: WHO'S THAT POKEMON?

For the residents of Wayward Pines, the 19th is just your typical boring Monday. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping.

Until suddenly, they're not.

That's the first sign. Maybe you don't even notice — you're far too busy with your nine-to-five, or maybe even by poolside, blissfully ignorant to the trouble brewing just out of sight, or to the fact that SPF 15 is basically just water anyway. Or maybe you aren't quite so lucky. You notice the birds have gone silent. You feel the eyes upon you, unseen but still raising goosebumps on the back of your neck.

And then from the woods, that telltale scream.

No, two screams, then three, then five, then more than a dozen. You can't count them, can't figure out which direction they're coming from. It's like they're all around you now. Even above you. Now you spot them on the rooftops — god, they're huge, you can't even fathom how they made it up there unnoticed.

But they're not playing at stealth anymore. One leaps off the roof, a single fluid bound on long thick limbs, and barely lands on the sidewalk for a moment before it lunges at the nearest person — your neighbor mowing his lawn, or maybe the woman carrying that armful of bags out of French's Grocery — long claws slicing through their flesh like a hot knife through butter. Then comes another, and another. Into the streets, the backyards, and the ill-timed pool parties, tearing through every living soul they can find.

By nightfall, the creatures have retreated back into the woods en masse, but anyone foolish enough to wander too far from the safety of their homes runs the risk of being picked off one by one if they're not careful. The 20th and 21st follow a similar pattern; during the day, the Sheriff and a team of volunteers comb through the woods looking for survivors, and during the night, these creatures do much the same.

The morning of the 22nd dawns with the last of the vicious "murder potatoes" (as Linda had hysterically dubbed them on the first day while wielding a butcher's knife with astonishing proficiency) have fallen, and the danger is gone.

For now, anyway. The questions they leave behind, however? Those are here to stay.

MOD NOTES

This is a catch-all for any and all threads pertaining to the Who's That Pokemon event! It covers the battle on the 19th and the lingering danger over the course of the 20th and 21st.

PLEASE INCLUDE IN YOUR TOP-LEVEL SUBJECT LINE: Character Name, date, location, and open or closed, to help keep things a bit more organized.

If you have any questions regarding this event, feel free to ask them here!

Comments

[keephimtalking]

For the most part, after leaving a bunch of dead gray bodies around, the critters seemed to have gotten the message that messing with anyone in or near the bar got them pretty damn dead.

Lantar keeps his guard up, though. Makes sure to keep any other volunteer fighter's guards up too. Makes sure to keep people in the storage room occupied in case boredom got the better of them and they tried something stupid.

It's been a long couple of hours and his clothes were in tatters where the monsters had tried to claw or bite him, only to encounter the solid carapace underneath. He's in the middle of ripping strips off of sleeve when Aranea arrives.

"You know, for some reason I was expecting you to appear wielding a giant human dildo. I mean, that thing isn't too far off, but you know."

It's wry and tired and dark with an undertone of relief that spreads onto Lantar's avian face following the words.

"So, what flavor you looking for? We got vodka and petrol, vodka and kerosene, whiskey with both..."

[unweaving]

If there's a Freud where Aranea's from she's too blissfully unaware of him to be mad, waggling an eyebrow in exaggerated comedy as she leans the lance against a wall instead.

"I do like whiskey, especially when I can get it to go. You got any cloth in here you're not wearing? I don't mind lending a hand if it gives me a chance to catch my breath."

I's truer than she makes it sound. There's no world in which she wouldn't fight, but for now it seems like there's an inexhaustible supply of the damn things. It's wearing her down.

Sorry about the slow!

[keephimtalking]

To be fair, Lantar doesn't know about Freud either! He does, however, happen to know about humans and their endless amount of dicks-related humor.

"I've got a box out back," he offers, setting aside the shredded bits of sleeves in favor of turning his full attention to picking out the appropriate cocktails from their crates and putting them into a bag for Aranea. "They were gonna head out to the hospital, but, well. That's not happening today."

His futile mission to keep the hospital supplied with clothes is on hold in favor of emergency monster management.

"I'm not gonna say no to any sort of helping hand." The bottles clink as he talks, double-bagged plastic rustling. "The storage room is getting crowded, so we've just shoved children and elderly in there. If any of these fuckers get into the building, everyone else is shafted. You up for helping us out there?"